


three for three

by cmwaisner



Series: Prose [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:21:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25235344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmwaisner/pseuds/cmwaisner
Summary: A love letter, made up of three sins. Of three confessions.
Series: Prose [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2100753
Kudos: 4





	three for three

_Many will not find this letter._

_Tell them, “there are worse fates.”_

* * *

My darling, my dearest, my  _ love_.

This letter has been a long time coming, hasn’t it? And you, patient and kind creature that you are, have indulgently awaited its arrival.

Just as always, I do not deserve you.  I never did; I see that now.

This letter will not reveal secrets, because there aren't any. Just... words left unspoken, I suppose. Many, _many_ unsaid words, but not secrets. Not from you. _Never_ from you.

I'll detail my silent thoughts, my hushed lies, not because you asked me to (God above knows you are too kind a soul to even think of such a thing), but because my heart cannot bear their burden any longer. You have made it much too light to carry their weight.

The first, of my many unsaid words: "This is nothing." Though I never said the words aloud, I could see the fragments of their false hatred in the cracks of my mirror, in the trails of tears down your cheeks. These words aren't a secret, but very much a lie. I care for who you are, who you will _become_ , too much for that. 

This leads me to my second. "I never could have loved you." A sin. A _lie_ , and a dirty, silent _sin_. I love you more than I love life itself, and truly, what is life without you? You, who make the sun brighter? You, who make the flowers bloom? There is none. Only silent, empty blackness, lacking in warmth and light and love and all things good. All things _you_.

My third, and final sin; perhaps the worst of all, for the heart I could hear shattering in your chest when it floated, quiet and nonexistent on the breeze: "I hate you." How _evil_ I must be, to lie in such a manner. How vile, how cruel, how _destructive_! You are like music, my love, like life and death and rebirth! How could I hate that which inspires me? Adores and created me?

I can't. I could never. I love you, for all that you are. For your successes, your failures, your faults, your _beauty_. I adore you, like the sun loves the moon; constantly missing each other, never quite aligned, not until that perfect moment, when planets quake and suns fall from the sky and the earth is shrouded in darkness.

And our moment, darling... What a moment it was.

You look beautiful in the moonlight, did you know that? Like a star: burning bright as any sun, and nonetheless blinding for its distance, no matter how intangible.

So, to repay my lies, three truths. Three things I treasure, three things that define the moments of my love for you, eternal as it is.

First, of all my loves for you, defined in a single second: the first time you touched me. A gentle press of fingers to my wrist. Barely there, barely present, but that slight affection will warm me until I am dead and cold, my heart no longer beating, until it beats only for you.

My second moment, my second beloved memory: the first time you spoke to me. " _You have lovely eyes_ ," you said, and perhaps I am a fool for having believed you, but then, does that not make us both foolish? Both mad, for having given all we had? Folie à deux, they call it. A madness shared by two.

The third; the final solidifier of how doomed I was from the very first instance my eyes met yours: the very first time you _looked_ at me. You _saw_ me. That was when the soul-shattering truth became me source of lies, of denial. I was terrified; how could I not be? How could I not, when I loved you so? When I loved you, and when you looked at me, as if you knew my every word before it was ever spoken––love became my existence, became my life, became _you_ , and death––death was nary a thought on the horizon.

Darling... I loved you. I _love_ you. I am _in love_ with you. You are my love, my only source of adoration, of inspiration, the only source of that blissful, painful enlightenment in my crumbling bastardization of a heart. 

This is the end of my confessions, my dear. I am out of time. But do not fear, sweet thing. Do not fear the end. Death is but a gift to you, one of the great fascinations of mankind, accompanied only by love and hope. If love and hope are blessings, then so too must death be. It is the sweetest end to this agony. To this overflowing fountain of worship you've brought forth in me.

And now, I bring about the end of my final message to you, darling. Keep my confessions in mind, won't you? They are the personification of my love. I should hate for you to discard them so callously in my last days. Farewell, to you. To everything. You _are_ my everything, and I say one last goodbye to it all. 

Sincerely,

Most lovingly,

_A._

Forever in worship of you.


End file.
